


you deserve nothing but all the finer things

by ElasticElla



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flight Attendants, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 05:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14301543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: “Well hello there handsome. Aren’t you a big one- I’m surprised you fit in here at all.” The man fucking winks, “But I’m sure you get that all the time.”





	you deserve nothing but all the finer things

**Author's Note:**

> a palate cleanser fic \o/  
> title from fergie's glamorous aka the ricky anthem  
> [i tumble](http://lesbiancleophas.tumblr.com)

Shane is used to a certain clientele in first class. There’s the older women who like to hit on him, the younger ones that just want to be drunk for as much of the flight as possible. Business men who are annoyed by his presence as if he’ll single-handedly ruin their next big thing. Those clearly on vacation, often families or couples; their first time in first class, wide eyed and thrilled by everything. Shane has slightly different versions of himself for each of them, to suit their needs. 

None of them are really _him_ but that’s the service industry for you. 

So when a man sits in his section, bright purple feathered boa over a shiny silver silk suit, Shane doesn’t know how to react. 

Well professionally, obviously. But he hasn’t even decided if he should slouch to seem shorter or stand tall as he walks over. He hasn’t decided anything when the man looks up and just _beams_ at him. 

“Well hello there handsome. Aren’t you a big one- I’m surprised you fit in here at all.” The man fucking winks, “But I’m sure you get that all the time.” 

“I-c-can I get you a pre-flight beverage?” he stutters out, blood burning in his cheeks. 

“Sure, you got a name handsome?” 

Shane swallows, “We have soda-” 

“Name first,” he interrupts, voice quiet but firm. 

“Shane sir.” 

His lips curl up into a slow smile, “I like that. I’ll have a vodka-cranberry, Shane.”

“Of course, right away sir.” 

Francesca’s giving him a too-knowing look, and he ignores her as he heads to the kitchen to make the drink. It’s a Tuesday mid-morning flight, literally no one else is in first class, he’s allowed to pay extra attention to his one customer. (Considering the plane ticket is a few hundred dollars more, it’d be absurd if he didn’t.)

He brings the cocktail back, setting it down in the cup-holder as the man makes no move to grab it. 

“Sit with me Shane.” 

Shane looks around, fingers itch to scratch his neck. “I can’t do that, sorry sir.” 

He raises an eyebrow, “I’m the only one here. Sit with me.” 

Shane does, doesn’t even realize he’s following the order until he’s seated. (Rule four of being a flight attendant: _no_ sitting.) 

The man beside him grins wide, bright white teeth glinting. “I’m Ricky Goldsworth.” 

There’s no way that name is real, and Shane wants to call him out on it. But then _Ricky_ is sipping his drink, smacking his lips, and Shane couldn’t speak if he wanted to. 

“Tell me Shane, how long have you done this work?” 

“I’m new-ish,” he confesses, isn’t sure where the truth came from. If anyone else had asked, he would have said a year so they wouldn’t think him unknowing or incompetent. 

Ricky nods, “In it for the travel?” 

Shane snorts, “Turn around is too quick for much sight seeing.” 

“And before?” 

Shane thinks back to his all too brief stint as mayor, to how he wasn’t able to do what he needed or- 

“It’s the past.” 

“I’ll drink to that,” Ricky says, polishing off his drink. 

“Would you like another?” Shane asks. 

He grins, “Trying to get me drunk?” 

“No! I mean- can I get you some water? Food?”

“That all?” Ricky asks. 

Shane swallows, “I should really get back to work sir.” 

He laughs low, “A gin and tonic then.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Goldsworth.” 

And Ricky’s eyes light up at the title.

.

Shane has lost his mind. That’s the only explanation for the way he’s acting around Goldsworth, needs to get it together. He takes a trip to the tiny bathroom to splash some water on his face, shaking his head at his reflection. 

“In three hours, he’s out of your life forever. Stop it.” 

His shoulders drop, and reality cracks down on the ridiculous fantasies in his head. Of them sailing around the world and- he needs to stop. They just met, and very soon his life will return to its usual Ricky-less state. 

A few minutes later, he drops off the G&T, leaving before Ricky can say anything. He has to do the safety procedures in the aisle, isn’t losing his job over a gorgeous face. 

Ricky looks too amused during the whole thing, raising his hand at the end. 

“Yes sir?” he says, walking closer. 

Usually his height lends a certain confidence and self-control, but it does nothing against Goldsworth. And regardless of his own pep talk, nerves and anticipation are trying to turn his organs inside-out. 

“I wanted to join one of the airline’s clubs, I’ll be a frequent flyer.” 

“Lux Airlines is a part of many miles designed programs. There’s a pamphlet behind the Sky Mall magazine.” 

Ricky smiles lazily, “It’s a little more personal.” 

Shane’s eyebrows come together, “Sir I don’t know what you mean.” 

“I believe the colloquial title is the Mile High Club.” 

Shane flushes, “Sir I- I- I’m at _work_.” 

“When do you get off?” Ricky asks, a simple question filled with so much suggestion that Shane’s cheeks will be burning until landing at this rate. 

.

Spring time in Paris is said to be one of the most beautiful things, all the gardens fresh with new blooms and crisp air. 

Shane spends the entire eleven hours he has in the city in an extravagant hotel room, which he still doesn’t understand how Ricky talked a suite up to the penthouse. Sometime in the fourth afterglow, Shane learns the man’s real name is Ryan, likes the way it rolls off his tongue. 

(Ryan likes it even more, riding him slow until he’s begging, pleading for more.)

And all the poets are right, springtime in Paris _is_ magical.


End file.
